


Building a nest

by hiyashe



Series: the life of the youngest robin [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Super Sons (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Clark and Lois silently approving Damian as son-in-law, Damijon - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jondami, Journey, Multi, Past Tense, Running Away, Self-Discovery, bare with me, no beta-ed, small character death, takes place in saudi-arabia, trying to find his own way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 21:37:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14481693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiyashe/pseuds/hiyashe
Summary: It was time to create his own life anew with his decisions - without the influence of others. He was finally free from all boundaires and becomes a hero disguised as slayer. Now he wanted closure with his past, but nothing ever goes according to plan.





	1. Gliding through the air

Dunes as far as the eye could reach, from morning to night, it was his daily scenery. Here and there were some animals who were evolved to withstand the unbearable heat and the bitter cold, not like mere humans like him. He had some advantage, being born and raised as an assassin meant to resist heatwaves which could rival hell – it didn’t mean he had to like it. Even after eight years he didn’t surpass the setting-in phase, everything was still new and yet so familiar and he loved every bit of it.

Sure, it was lonesome and tiring, but everything he needed was his luggage and his camel **_Alhadi_**. He had overcame many obstacles in poor regions, wounds still visible under his white thobe and his **_sirwal_**. He had even get used to his stark white **_kūfiyyah_** without **_‘iqāl_** around his head, covering every part of his face except his eyes – it proved really useful against sandstorms. Avoiding big cities where he knew people would search of him were major impediments since he had to raise his stock of clothes and necessities there, but he managed somehow.

He didn’t even need money anymore – he was a legend, a mystic creature for these people, his good deeds spread all over the country and beyond and yet it was an open secret for which he was thankful. Without the discreetness of the tribes he wouldn’t even had the chance to locate one of the headquarters of Ra’s al Ghul. It was easy to kill him, his madness made him careless, but nearly killing his mother just because she operated on her own was his real demise. Anger made blind and vindictive, and the best thing about the whole story was: He regretted nothing. Not a single bloodshed, because it was needed at the time and it wasn’t killing for fun, but for defence of the lives of innocent people. It wasn’t like that he killed everyone who passed his way, they were individual cases. It was bad enough to clean his **_saif_** so that it wouldn’t rust and to buy (or be gifted by supporters or the victims) new white clothes because he wouldn’t go through the trouble to clean blood stains.

He didn’t like to think about his past, and his recent past even less. Living for the present was his device, he couldn’t bothered with something he couldn’t change anyway. The League of Assassins were no more and instead the League of Shadows had risen with a new leader: none other than himself but for now, his mother was leading them as substitute – she understood that he didn’t want to let his freedom be taken away again because of duties he never wanted to bear. Even though he didn’t meet up with her, he sent her a short letter with the essentials of how she should lead them and why he couldn’t take his rightful place as the head of the league. They had a tacit agreement that his whereabouts and his written contact with her would be still a secret – one of the virtues of the League of Shadows was sense of order, he was her superior, therefore she had to oblige.

His family in Gotham didn’t know that his disappearance was planned before he even met his father for the first time, he was never meant to be Robin – his destiny held something greater than being a sidekick, as heartless as it might sound. He was specifically born to rule the world, and he was going to rule it by his own set of rules.

He pitched his tent on the edge of **_Rub’ al Khali_** , a place called **_Ubar_**. It was a vacant territory which was eschewed even by Bedouins and was untouched by most humans because of the nearly deadly densification. For him, it was a safe haven, a place on this world where no one would find him. Sure, Morocco and Egypt were beautiful but full of tourists and people in general.

He was just taking a break in the ruined city, **_Alhadi_** needed the water of the vaults there. The few people who were working at the museum nearby were aware of his presence and welcomed him with some Pitta, fruits and **_qamar ad-din_** to drink. They were kind enough to draw a bath for him and provide him with clothes and supplies. It was strange at first but after a while he had grown accustomed to it.

He was now a familiar face within that territory and the stories about his heroic deeds were known wherever he stepped a foot on a city or village. The hospitability came also from respect, most of them thought that he was some saint sent by **_Allah_** and accordingly called him **_Malak_**. He tutted inwardly, if they knew about his past or that he was the heir of the League of Shadows they wouldn’t be so nice to him. But that was the reason why he wanted time for himself – he wanted to make a name of himself, without judging eyes, lingering glares and unspoken distrust.

After scrubbing his limbs clean with some cheap looking soap, he rinsed all the sand off his toned body. He didn’t grow up much to his dismay, he was still too small for his age, 1.65 metres with a body weight of 54 kilogramme – a true flyweight thanks to his diet. The manager had brought him new fresh clothes with his refilled bag and whetted **_saif_** beforehand. The thobe was stitched with barely visible ornaments and well-hidden Arabic phrases like “peace be upon you” or “may **_Allah_** reward you for the good”. Unlike his father, he was atheist but he respected all religions, and having such phrases on his robe was a bit ironic. He neither believed in God nor did someone really reward him for his deeds – they were doing it so he would keep going on for them. Humanity was so simpleminded.

He was thanking them for their kindness, parting with “may Allah protect you” and he set out to his tent. His companion was still there, kneeling on the hot desert sand, slumbering peacefully. He snorted, at least one of them would get a good night sleep. The temperature was dropping uncomfortably fast, from over 47 degree Celsius to merely 20 and his body was still not used to it.

He wasn’t punishing him per se, it was more like tolerating everything he was incapable to change, even though it was more physical than psychical. It turned out to be effective for his character building, he was now someone who he could be proud of, were it not for the fact that he was all alone. He did miss his parents, his adoptive brothers, and even the Kent’s who were like a second family when he and his father would have heated exchange of words. He was sorry that he didn’t feel the same feeling towards his mother and deceased grandfather but they didn’t encouraged the positive sentiments either.

However, going back wasn’t an option anymore, he had responsibilities to the people living here and to the league and he rather liked being adored and admired by strangers. They could trust a **_badawī_** being their saviour while his own family didn’t had faith in him, it was naturally that he couldn’t give up his life he arduously built up. Some things didn’t change at all and his selfishness was one of them – or was it the fear of being rejected by his family?

Either way, it was time for him to go back to the league and to replace his mother. She would have the liberty to detach herself from the League of Shadows if she vowed not to interfere with his affairs, or the affairs of the league for that matter. She might be the one who gave life to him and that was it. He did love her but they didn’t have a real mother-son relationship, they were more and less mere acquaintances and he liked it that way. He shouldn’t build relationships anyway, all he needed were the right connections. After all, he was created to tame the world, not to be loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_alhadi_** : lodestar  
>  ** _sirwal_** : A form of baggy trousers, typically worn in Muslim countries  
>  ** _kūfiyyah_** : A traditional Middle Eastern headdress from Kufa, from a square scarf  
>  ** _‘iqāl_** : A black cord, worn doubled, used to keep the headdress in place  
>  ** _saif_** : A scimitar, backsword or sabre with a curved blade  
>  ** _Rub’ al Khali_** : The largest contiguous sand desert in the world  
>  ** _Ubar_** : A ruined city in Oman  
>  ** _qamar ad-din_** : Juice prepared from dried apricot paste  
>  ** _Allah_** : God  
>  ** _Malak_** : Angel  
>  ** _badawī_** : A grouping of nomadic Arab peoples who have historically inhabited the desert regions in North Africa, the Arabian Peninsula, Iraq and the Levant.


	2. Spotted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was it really a good idea to give Robin's farewell letter to Superboy and Superman?

The reception room was held in many exotic colours no one ever saw. Different shades of gold, red, royal blue and green were ornamenting the four walls of the room. A throne-like chair was facing the door, the windows behind the chair, letting the person on it appear like a saint due to the warm sunrays which shone through the crystal clear glass. A room fit for a ruler.

“Status report, **_Khalid_**.”

“We tried to get in touch with someone of the family but we just attracted the attention of the Kryptonian Kal-El and his sole offspring.”, one of his coevals told him. Khalid was bigger than him and had a pale complexion compared to his people, but the very same dark shade of hair and eyes, which held stubbornness and ambition inside. He was a **_bidūn_** and was fighting every single day of his life against discrimination, now he was a valuable and irreplaceable member of his special elite team: the Demon’s Fist.

“We have yet told him our localisation in case you don’t want to receive him and want, in fact, another one.”, **_Viyan_** was the also in the elite team – and unlike Khalid, he was smaller than him and wasn’t of Arabic origin; he was in fact a Kurdish Syrian he had saved in the early days of his journey – he was an absconder, and it was a major honour to have him in the league.

“Of all the people, it has to be you two…”, he muttered to himself, until he cleared his throat and continued, “No, lure them here with my old tracker device, they’re good enough to begin with.”

“As you wish, **_Ra'ïs_**.”, they said unison and vanished shorty after through the door.

It was a bit disturbing for him, to say the least. He was prepared for nearly every person, even Colin. As the saying went: expect the unexpected – and truly, their imminent appearance had thrown him and his hard preparatory works off. With their superpowers they would be here faster than he could anticipate. He had no idea how right he would be with his assumption, because in less than an hour he could hear a loud knocking against the door, in a particular pattern which told him that it was one of the Demon’s Fist. Without expecting a response, the giant wooden doors were opened by stationed members.

* * *

 

What Clark and Jon saw, was a lean man with a pure white cloak hiding his facial features, with a long white sleeved top and baggy trouser. It gave him an air of innocence even though it was the leader of the infamous League of Shadows who killed the putative immortal being Ra’s al Ghul.

“Welcome, invitees.”

The voice of the leader was ordinary yet robotic, as if it wasn’t his real voice – they came to the conclusion, that he used a kind of voice changer, without looking with their x-ray vision. They didn’t want to pry in his privacy with their superpowers because he had clearly the upper hand, and it was one of the conditions to get some information about their lost bird.

“I think you came because of that?”

In his right hand was a round gold-black object with a significant “R” on it. It was the trademark and secretly integrated direction-finding transmitter of Robin. Having that in the hands of their enemy was a red flag.

“From where did you get this?”

Jon’s words were filled with hate. How dare he – or someone else – to touch Robin and to come out unharmed?

“I think this is a question you can answer yourself.”

That guy made his blood boil and his father had easily noticed it, hence the firm hand on his shoulder. Superman knew that Robin was a sore subject for his son. His idol, his best friend and his not-so-secret crush – parents knew best after all – was completely disappeared and now seeing something that was once a possession of Robin in possession of one of their greatest enemies made him incredibly furious. He himself was more than ready to break their arrangement and to get Robin with sheer violence if necessary, but one of them had to be level-headed.

“There’s a reason why you beckon us here, it’s not simply because you have Robin, am I right?”

And there was it, a small, malicious laugh which sent shivers down their spines. It wasn’t like a laugh of a villain in a movie, it was deeper, sadder for some reason – that made him all the more angry. The leader however was unfazed. He took an envelope out of his cloak and throw it with ease like a shuriken towards their feet.

“Just a little remnant of Robin for you. It was initially destined for his family, but you could be considered as important as them.”

Superman kneeled, examining the envelope before taking it in his hands and breaking the seal of the league. However, he handed the letter over his son, he was the only person Robin trusted after all, save for Nightwing. The boy twitched the letter from his hands and read the lines in no time. Barely finished with the letter, he crumbled it and tossed it in a corner. His face was inflamed with rage, his posture tense, ready for a fight.

“I don’t believe you! He would never write something like that!”

“Then you know very little about Robin.”, Superboy could figuratively hear his smirk under his hood and it didn’t help him with his underlying rage.

“Oh, and you know him better than me because you imprisoned him?”, was his snappy response.

“Son.”, Superman tried to calm him down. Talking back with such disrespectful tone in an enemy’s base was never a good idea, even less if the enemy had an important person in his claws.

“Hm.”, the leader feigned thoughtfulness and protracted the response unnecessarily, “True. Why should I know better?”

“You know what?”, he began speech anew, “Take it or leave it. You both are adamant and won’t listen to a person with too much heinous crimes and illicit affairs on its account anyway. So why should I bother myself with such trivialities?”

“No!”, Superboy was bold enough to step forward, stopping a half metre before him while keeping eye contact. “We won’t leave without Robin.”

“I shan’t stand your rudeness, **_fata_**. Back off on your own or my subjects and I shall help you.”, he hissed under his pristine white hood, his hand grabbing painfully the wrist of the half-Kryptonian to show him his place. “Rudeness equals insubordination and that is not welcome under my presence.”

“I apologize for my son, but please considerate that Robin was – and still is – the most important person in his life.”, Superman appeased. This was probably their single chance to gather some information about Robin and Batman would give him hell if his son screwed this up. “He is still emotional about his leave.”

He released his death grip on his wrist and tutted scornfully.

“You mustn’t shield your own son, Kryponian, he is old enough to speak for himself.”, he said nonchalant while he crossed his legs. “So, **_fata_** , what do you want me to do? Compel Robin to go back to an environment he doesn’t want back to? Or better, to turn him in without his consent?”

“No, but –“

“Do you think I’m unkind? Every individual in this league is here because of their own accord, I don’t coerce them to join, they come willingly.”

“Can I meet him at least?”

He sounded so broken yet so hopeful it tore his heart. He felt a strange affinity with him from their first encounter. He was strict, ruling with an iron fist but he was also known as kind and fair –although nobody knew it beside the League of Shadows or their connections. He took off his mouth mask and his hood.

“Your wish is granted.”

He was no more than a twenty-one years old man, with a sharp, youthful face without any blemish and piercing eyes as green as kryptonite. Ebony hair were spiked up, framing his face more mature. It was obvious yet impossible for them that he, of all things, was the head of the league.

“Damian? It was you all along?”, surprisingly it was Superman who spoke first, more surprising was the fact that he used his civilian name. Although, Superboy looked like he didn’t even realized that his long-lost crush was standing in front of him.

“No, the Damian you are referring to – and I mean Damian Wayne – died eight years ago. You’re facing the leader of the League of Shadows. Here, my name is _**Hafid**_. My subjects are calling me ‘boss’, the victims I’ve rescued are calling me **_Malak,_** for enemies I am ** _Fatih,_** but for the sake of old times you may call me Damian al Ghūl.”

“Damian.”, it was just a whisper but a scream for the young leader. He glanced up and didn’t expect watery sky blue eyes looking at him like his world was crumbling down. “Why?”

He held his head in a tilted position, looking blasé but in his eyes told him that he was utterly confused.

He couldn’t contain his feelings anymore, he had to hold these slender shoulders of his counterpart and his subconscious noticed the slight wince yet he didn’t lessen his strength in fear that he would break out of his grasp.

“Come back. Your family awaits you. They miss you… I've missed you.”

“As if that would be so easy. I am the enemy, Gotham doesn’t need another villain on her streets.”

A head-shaking was following. “You’re his son, their brother. You’re my best friend.”

“I have liabilities here, I can’t go.”

“You had also obligations in Gotham and here we are.”, Jonathan immediately regretted his words. Surely it was the final blow to their reunion. He could tear his hair out – why couldn’t he think before he spoke? Was his rash actions one of the reasons Damian felt like he didn’t trust him with his plan to run away? He didn’t even trust him back then, now how would he ever trust him if their first meeting in a very long time ended with cynical remarks?

Superman, who was first left out from their conversation, intervened swiftly before his son could get wrapped up in more negative thoughts, pitying him a little bit: “I know that you and Bruce didn’t have any real conversation and just nasty arguments, and there’s still some thing left unsaid. The only thing I wish is that you pay a short visit to your father and resolve everything. He can’t express his thoughts and you are still the most eloquent being I’ve ever met. Be the better man between the two of you.”

He hoped that addressing his honour would budge him someway – he didn’t say it to anybody but Damian was a part of the family since the partnership between Jon and him. Even Lois was convinced that his future son-in-law – Lois’ word usage, not his – was a good-natured boy who was confused of what or who he was. All he needed was normality and this was something they could give him in Metropolis if necessary. If Bruce messed this up again he wouldn’t hesitate to take him in – he was family after all, whenever he wanted or not.

“Yeah, you have us by your side if it’s going down south.”, Superboy inferred, “We won’t let you down.”

That raised a barely noticeable smile on the stoic man. The feeling of warmth was spreading all over his body, consuming him entirely. A feeling he missed in his life. He knew it was a trap to lure him back to his father, but it was tempting. He was also interested how they were doing so far. The monthly status report from his underground agent were objective and unsatisfactory. It was his sole chance to go back to Gotham with a one-way ticket back home, to his equals. Here, he didn't have to bleed in need for acceptance or had to change himself for someone he barely knew.

“I think I’ll accept your suggestion.”

It would be definitely a rough reunion with his kin, even if they weren’t blood-related at all, they inherited the same stubbornness similar to his father. Maybe he should have called off these two, which would have certainly saved him from future stress and yelling. He had the feeling that his unveiling would entail more pain than it was worth – on both sides – but the radiant smile Jon was giving him would hopefully make up for it.

Sadly, everything in his life was damned to be complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:  
>  ** _Khalid_** : An Arabic male name, means ‘immortal’.  
>  ** _bidūn_** : A social class in countries of the Gulf Cooperation Council and Iraq. They are reportedly stateless people – several governments recognize them as illegal immigrants.  
>  ** _Viyan_** : A Kurdish male name, means ‘will’.  
>  ** _Ra'ïs_** : boss  
>  ** _fata_** : boy  
>  ** _Hafid_** : A name, means "the protector" (Nordafrican), "grandson" (Arabic) or "the wise one" (Muslim)  
>  ** _Malak_** : Arabic for "Angel"  
>  ** _Fatih_** : An Arabic name, means “the conqueror”, “the emperor”


End file.
